


l'obscur ennemi qui nous ronge le coeur (the evil flowers remix)

by preussisch_blau



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Harry is a Meta, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Nightmares, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-25 23:05:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12046170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preussisch_blau/pseuds/preussisch_blau
Summary: Harrison is trying to help, if only Allen would let him.





	l'obscur ennemi qui nous ronge le coeur (the evil flowers remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elrhiarhodan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/gifts).
  * Inspired by [a transparent house that you and I built](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5876311) by [elrhiarhodan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan). 



> Content Notice: Allusion to graphic nightmare deaths. Using powers to enter another character's mind without permission. Much like the original. Unlike the original, there is no porn.

Harrison wants to throw something.

Not that such a display of temper would actually help matters any. It would, at best, offer the most temporary of relief from the agitation that had settled in his brain, that itched in his skull. Instead, he calmly sets his marker down on the nearest flat surface, and runs both his hands through his hair. He tugs a bit, before finally settling his hands against the nape of his neck, fingers interlaced.

The problem on the board before him remains, stubbornly, unsolved. The answer, he thinks, should be there by now. He already knows what he's looking for - interdimensional travel - and that it's possible. The problem is _controlling_ it. As it stands, he's spent yet another fruitless evening of what ought to be his free time slaving over the issue of how to send Barry Allen _home_ , and once more come out with no answer.

He doesn't know why he even cares so much. Allen made it clear from the first day he woke up in STAR Labs that he loathes Harrison, is wary and suspicious of him for reasons he refuses to share. Oh, Harrison tells himself it's just the challenge, the thrill of solving a complex puzzle, the confirmation of hypotheses like alternate universes and travelling between them, but he knows better. 

He may very well be a cold-hearted bastard, but not so cold as to not care that there surely must be family Allen had inadvertently left behind when he'd dropped, quite literally, in on Harrison's earth a month ago. If his Jesse were lost far from home, Harrison would want someone to help her find her way back. So he can't do that to another parent, can't sit idly by and let a young man stay lost. 

Even if that young man is as much of a pain in the ass as Allen is. 

Harrison turns towards his computer, checking to see if the simulations he's been running based off of data from the anomaly in STAR Labs' lower levels have borne any fruit. The program is still going, churning through the different parameters he set for it to examine, but thus far the results show no promise either. He's certain that anomaly will be key to sending Allen home; he doesn't believe in coincidence, and that thing showed up at about the same time Garrick says Allen did. They must be connected somehow, he just needs to determine _how_. 

It would be much easier, he suspects, if Allen would just _work with him_ , but the last time Harrison had suggested hooking up a few sensors or sending Allen through a bioscanner, the boy had reacted... poorly. There had been yelling, most of which Harrison had simply let wash over him - he had a _teenage daughter,_ one just as brilliant and bullheaded as himself, so he was well-practised in ignoring temper tantrums - but what had stuck with him was Allen's insistence that he would not be a _pawn,_ not be a lab rat for whatever Harrison had planned.

Why it bothers him, Harrison isn't entirely sure. He's honest enough with himself, for the most part, to admit that he'd have used whatever data he could to help develop a way to combat the rising threat of Zoom, but it's not as if he would have _experimented_ on Allen. If anything, Allen is far too young, far too inexperienced to be a serious contender against Zoom. Hell, Garrick can't even keep up with the villain, can barely hold his own. What hope would an almost _child_ have? Particularly one who, as best as Harrison can tell from his limited observations, has little practise fighting. 

It's likely the fact that Allen instantly assumed his intentions were less than pure, despite not having spent any time to actually get to _know_ Harrison. Ordinarily, knowing that Garrick had been helping the boy with housing and such, he'd have assumed that Garrick had poisoned the well against him. Except, if anything, it was Garrick who had kept bringing Allen back to STAR Labs at first, had kept insisting to him that Harrison was the only one who could realistically help him get home any time soon. 

Another frustration in his life to puzzle over. 

Harrison straightens back up and turns away from his computer. It still has at least another half hour to go, longer if any of the final simulations actually hold the solution, and he can still feel the unsettled energy running under his skin. With a low huff, he drops his hands to his sides and heads for the door of his office. 

He barely has the door open before a brilliant yellow streak zips around him and solidifies into Allen's now familiar form. Once Harrison manages to get his heart out of his throat, he fixes Allen with his harshest glare. He'd abandoned all pretext of charm and kindness after Allen's tantrum a few weeks back, and paradoxically, it actually helped a little. 

"It is," he checks his watch briefly, shutting off the metahuman alarm whilst he's at it, "nearly midnight. What do you want." 

Allen actually looks briefly chastised for a moment, before apparently remembering that he hates Harrison's guts. He gestures to his right arm, and Harrison _winces_. Arms should not, under any circumstances, drop so steeply at the shoulder, nor hang so limply. 

"Need this put back into place," Allen mutters. 

Harrison rolls his eyes, burying the concern he is sure would be unwanted under the pretense of annoyance. "Of course. Lay down. No, not on the couch, on that workbench." 

Thankfully, the boy doesn't argue, instead laying where he's told, though Harrison can see why as he draws closer. The skin he can see is paler than usual, lacking even the barest hint of a flush, and Allen seems to be sweating a bit. He has to commend him for still being able to stand, much less _move_ , with how much pain he must be in... though, now that he thinks about it, Allen likely has had practise at ignoring pain. 

A disturbing thought. 

"Take off your mask," he snaps. 

"Why? You wanna gloat over seeing me hurt?" 

He frowns at that response. Allen sounds out of it, almost delirious, no doubt the adrenaline of being injured and getting himself somewhere to heal wearing off, to be replaced by an overload of pain. But the fact that he assumed Harrison must find joy in this injury... 

No time to worry about that, not now, not with how fast speedsters seem to heal. 

"No," Harrison says, "Not really. But I do want to check you for head injuries once I get this straightened out." 

Allen blinks at him, frowning slightly and eyes narrow, but he clumsily tugs his cowl off with his uninjured hand. 

Harrison acknowledges his compliance with a grunt. Then he reaches down and firmly grasps Allen's arm with both hands. 

"Try to relax."  
  
That earns him a weak snort, as if Allen is incredulous at the notion of relaxing around him.

"Or at least not tense up deliberately," Harrison says. _Honestly._

Allen closes his eyes, exhaling in a very deliberate and slightly exaggerated manner. 

"I'm going to reduce this on the count of three," he explains to Allen. Never mind that he's already begun the process, moved Allen's arm into position as he made the suggestion he relax, started applying the steady pull to put traction on the dislocation as he spoke his warning. "One... two..." 

"Ow! Fuck!" Allen kicks the table, though he manages to keep his torso mostly still as his arm is set back into place. 

"Three," Harrison finishes blandly. 

Once he lets go of Allen's arm, the boy bolts upright, small sparks trailing off him. "You said you'd do it on three! Liar!" 

Harrison quirks an eyebrow, though otherwise he maintains a bored, uninterested mien. "Well, you don't trust me anyways, so I thought I'd at least give you a reason not to." 

Allen growls, green eyes flashing in a way that might make a lesser man turn tail and run. But Harrison doesn't fear this boy's rage. He can see too much light, too much goodness in Barry Allen to believe for one second that he'll do anything worse than yell a bit before running off to sulk. It's... admirable, in a way. Frustrating, though, because it's clearly that innate goodness that is willing to give Harrison a chance, regardless of whatever might have caused Allen's animosity otherwise. 

He wishes he knew how to appeal to it, but he's simply not that good with people. 

"Why do I even bother with you?" Allen grumbles. "No matter what universe, you're still some kind of asshole." 

That complaint makes Harrison's other eyebrow go up. Hello. That... actually makes some sense. He'd been aware that there was a Barry Allen on this earth; it should have occurred to him there was a Harrison Wells where _this_ Barry Allen had come from. 

He has no time to chastise himself for not even considering the possibility of more than one person having interdimensional doppelgängers, however. Not when Allen is getting up off the table in obvious preparation to leave. 

"Mm, no," he says, placing his hand on the back of Allen's neck and lightly pushing down. "You're staying where I can keep an eye on you until that heals completely." 

It's a sign of how tired and sore Allen is that he doesn't fight Harrison, or simply zip off in the same blaze of lightning he came in as. Which reassures him that he made the right decision in attempting to force Allen to stay. 

He doesn't comply perfectly, however. 

"But that's gonna take at least three hours," Allen complains. 

Harrison shrugs, stepping away and heading back over to his computer. "Not my problem. Should've thought about that before you went and dislocated your damn shoulder." 

He ignores the petulant whining that follows his words, because he's well aware that there was no deliberate choice to this injury. But there was a choice in who Allen went to to be fixed up, and for whatever unfathomable reason, he chose Harrison Wells. Which means he'll just have to deal with the consequences of that choice, whether he likes them or not. Once Allen shuts up, Harrison speaks again. 

"There's a blanket in the closet. Lay down and rest your arm, because I really don't want to have to take you to the hospital and explain who the hell you are." 

More complaints, but also the sound of compliance. Of booted feet attempting to quietly cross his office and failing because their owner lacks the grace to move lightly. The faint creak of a door - he makes a note to oil those hinges. Followed by more footsteps, and the slightest groan from the couch as it adjusts to the weight of a body settling on top of it. 

Harrison tunes out any further noise Allen might make as he minimises the tab with his simulation and loads up his notes on speedster physiology. He makes a note of how long Allen anticipates for his shoulder to fully heal, then opens up a web browser to look up how long it would take the average human to heal entirely from a shoulder dislocation. That information is copied over to his file, followed by some brief calculations on the difference in time. Then he checks the limited information he has on other injuries Allen has suffered. More specifically, how long it took for those to heal compared to a non-metahuman. What little data he has is beginning to paint a picture of what Allen's metabolism and cellular regeneration rate must be... his brow creases, and he leans forward intently as he brings up his information about Allen's food consumption. 

His focus is abruptly interrupted, not by the chime of his simulations concluding, but by a whimper. It has Harrison up, out of his chair, before he fully realises he's moved. It's not until he hears the second small cry Allen makes that he consciously understands it's not pain that has the boy calling out. 

It's fear. 

He makes his way cautiously over to the couch, slowly around it lest he startle Allen. 

Allen is asleep, still in his suit, with the blanket haphazardly folded under his head. But even had Harrison not heard his whimpers, it would be apparent his sleep his far from restful. His brows are furrowed, mouth tight, limbs twitching against the hormones that prevent the body from moving in sleep. 

That's no good. 

Harrison reaches out, then pauses, hand hovering scant inches from Allen's sweat-damp forehead. He could find out so easily what Allen fears so deeply that it haunts his dreams. Could even nudge the nightmares away, replace them with something peaceful and soothing of his own making. 

After all, when the particle accelerator failed, when it had spewed dark matter and all manner of theoretical particles in waves from its broken ring, he'd been down there, trying to shut it down, trying to prevent a complete disaster. At the time, Harrison had believed himself successful, with the tactic of shunting the radiation under the city. 

It hadn't been until the first reports of humans with supernatural abilities had begun showing up in the news that he'd suspected otherwise. Hadn't been until he'd accidentally slipped inside his own daughter's dreams that he'd begun to make the connection between exposure to the fallout of the particle accelerator's failure and what had been dubbed metahuman abilities. 

It feels like a lump of bile settles in his throat at the thought of intruding on Allen's dreams uninvited. He still vividly remembers the sensation of _wrongness_ from the other uses of his power. Not at being inside another's head, no. Harrison has always been fairly certain about who he is and who he is not, though he could see how a less self-assured man might end up lost in another's unconscious. No, it's the fact that he's never had permission, and as such it feels like he's committing the worst sort of invasion, the most indecent form of assault. 

He's reassured himself since with the knowledge that those were all accidents, that he hadn't quite figured out how to control his power or what triggered it to activate until after a few incidents. But he knew _now_ that touching a sleeping person was enough to pull him into their mind, into their dreams. Which meant he was very deliberately considering entering Allen's mind without permission. 

Well. It wasn't as if Allen trusted him _anyways_. 

A flimsy justification, to be sure. Even with the added consideration that he didn't want Allen to begin flailing once his body had released the forced stillness of deep sleep and reinjure himself didn't much help. 

And yet, he presses his hand to Allen's forehead regardless. 

The vision that greets him makes Harrison almost fall backwards, fingertips only just remaining on Allen's forehead. It's not the destruction that surrounds him, no. Not even though the building is all at once familiar and strange - the STAR Labs of Allen's home. Nor the bodies strewn amongst the rubble and broken glass covering the floor of the accelerator ring. He doesn't recognise the faces, though they must be important people to Allen, so the sight of corpses cooling in pools of blood doesn't faze him. Can't faze him, really. 

What did get to him though, was the man a bloodied and battered Allen is struggling to face off against. He barely notices Allen trying, and failing, to push himself off the ground, too caught out by the man in yellow standing before them. 

A man with a cruel smirk and glowing red eyes. 

A man with _his face_. 

Harrison forces his own emotions down, shuts them away behind as many walls as he can manage. No, now is not the time to have his own feelings about this. Not when he doesn't know if Allen will be able to sense his intrusion if his emotions get too strong. Not when he's uncertain of the consequences of getting caught up in another man's dream, and unwilling to find out. 

Instead, he breathes deeply, finding his own calm. Then, hesitantly, he reaches out with it, attempting to follow whatever pathways brought him into Allen's mind to begin with. Attempting to push a sense of peace along that bridge between their consciousnesses. 

It doesn't seem to help, which makes Harrison's frustration surge. He wants - he doesn't know _why_ , but he knows he desperately wants - to fix this. To make this better. To prove to Allen that not every man with his face wants to see him broken, his loved ones dead. He wants to _help_. But it seems that he can't even help Allen in his dreams. 

The other Wells steps closer to Allen, gloating in his victory, and Harrison wills Allen to get up. To punch the smug, murderous bastard in the face. He knows Allen can do it, has seen the footage of him fighting criminals out in the city. Knows that what the boy lacks in skill, he makes up for in sheer determination. So he _has_ to get up. 

Harrison focuses on that, focuses on the certainty that Barry can and will beat the other Wells if he just gets up _now_ , and pushes that towards Barry's mind. 

It... takes. 

He doesn't know how, doesn't know why. Maybe it's because Barry also wants to defeat the other Wells. But it takes, and Barry gets up, and he throws his punch - 

Harrison exhales shakily as he slides his fingers off Barry's forehead, exhaustion settling in his bones. Somehow, that had worked. Somehow, he'd influenced Barry's nightmare, shifted it towards victory for the boy. He hopes that's enough, because he can't do any more, can't erase the death and destruction the other Wells had caused in that dream (and hopefully _just_ that dream). He already feels overextended, stretched like a piece of taffy until he's thin and weak. Any more, and he might very well break from exhaustion. 

He moves slowly over to his chair, sitting down and nudging a clear space out on his desk so he can rest his head for a minute. Just a minute. He has so much work to do, to get Barry home, where hopefully his nightmares are _only_ nightmares. But for now, just a minute. Just to rest his eyes, keep him from saying anything without thinking when Barry awakes. 

Harrison closes his eyes, and sleeps. 


End file.
